


Sweet Nothings Are Anything But

by Wulfton



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bosmer Dragonborn, Fluff, M/M, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 22:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7455673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wulfton/pseuds/Wulfton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Farkas has questions for Wulf, and once they're answered, Wulf has one of his own that he hopes Farkas says yes to...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Nothings Are Anything But

It’s that time of night.

The great fire dominating the centre of the mead hall has dwindled to little more than smouldering coals by this point - the little light it emits is scarce enough to see, let alone light the almost-cavernous interior of Jorrvaskr.

Many of the Companions have retired to the lower levels by now, having called it a night after too much mead and fighting. The silence is broken when one of the doors creaks open and a figure darts in, who is quick to close it behind him to keep the winter night’s cold touch at bay.

He lowers the hood he wears and the gleam of amber eyes shines in the darkness, sweeping across the empty room. The corners of them crinkle, and the mer chuckles to himself as he makes his way towards the table. He picks up a piece of venison left abandoned on a plate, and washes it down with a mouthful from a tankard next to it.

“Y’ffre’s balls,” he mutters to himself, even as he takes another swig of whatever the drink is before placing the mug down and grimacing to himself.

“Not up to your standards?”

The elf looks over to the staircase leading below and squints, his eyes seeming to flash brighter for a handful of heartbeats. A smile then overtakes his features, and he meanders over, replying in an amused tone, “Of all people, you should know how … particular I can be, pup.”

“Stop calling me that,” the man groused, as he draws the mer in for a firm hug.

At first, the elf’s only response is a quiet chuckle. He burrows himself into the taller Nord’s chest, pressing his lips against the pale skin and inhaling deeply through his nose.

“Force of habit,” he says after a moment’s pause, “You’re much younger than me, remember?”

The man’s pale eyes are bright in the darkness as he rolls them, and he idly plays with the tips of the other’s ears without responding. The silence drags on, and the mer opens his mouth to say something, but is stopped by the Nord’s quiet, “You don’t have to remind me.”

Sighing, the elf draws back to make eye contact with the man, looking up while he says, “Farkas… does it really make you that uncomfortable?”

He shakes his head, opening and closing his mouth several times as he strives to answer. Eventually, he replies, “It’s not that you’re older than me, Wulf. I’m just scared of you outliving me.”

The elf’s expression immediately softens, and he stretches up to loop his arms around his neck. “C’mere,” he mutters as he leaps up to wrap his legs around his waist, Farkas’ arms immediately encircle his waist. Neither of them says anything until they’re settled, then Wulf looks him in the eye, now that they’re at eye-level.

“I never did tell you that much about my parents, did I?”

Farkas’ eyes widen slightly and he shakes his head, seemingly taken aback.

“Well, I won’t bore you with all the details, but the two of them were absolutely devoted to one another.

“I know I’ve told you they died when I was younger, but I never told you the circumstances, or how it had been … expected, for lack of a better term.

“Let me ask you this; how do you think we Bosmer deal with loving people of another race? After all, we sometimes live thrice the number of seasons the oldest humans do.”

Farkas shrugs in answer, and there’s a downtrodden turn to his response as he says, “I guess they … don’t.”

Wulf smiles to himself, and he unclasps his right hand to put it under Farkas’ chin, lifting it gently. “Now that’s where you’re wrong,” he murmurs, leaning forward to peck the Nord’s nose with his mouth.

He leans back, revelling in the other’s bemused expression as he continues on, “Back to my parents then, hm?”

At Farkas’ nod, Wulf’s gaze becomes distant as he says, “They adopted me when I was but a babe - my birth parents actually hadn’t actually planned on conceiving me. They’d had a bit too much jagga to drink one night, and … forgot to take precautions - in fact, it was only a late moon-cycle on my birth mother’s part that allowed me to come into existence.

“They’d already arranged with my parents to take care of me months before my birth, and when the time came, they handed me off with a solemn silence, or so I’m told.

“Of course, my parents were overjoyed at the child that was now their own to raise and teach, and I’ve many fond memories of them. Galalas loved to teach me archery, and I remember our first hunt - a small herd of deer. The pride on her face when my third shot brought down the herd’s largest stag still makes me smile.

“And Kirsten taught me how to smith and maintain my own bows and arrows. It took me forever to learn all the intricacies she had to show me, but I’ll never forget the bow she made for my thirtieth summer…”

Wulf trails off at this point, a poignant smile gracing his features. Farkas wait a few moments, before he clears his throat and hesitantly says, “Uh, Wulf…?”

The Bosmer’s gaze snaps to Farkas’ and he shakes himself, saying, “Uh, right… Where was I?”

The Nord grins, and he replies, “Your parents?”

The elf reaches around to flick his ear in retaliation, “Don’t be sarcastic.

“As I was saying, the two loved each other immensely, despite the fact Gala was a Bosmer and Julie was a Breton. Things began to change once Kirs neared her hundredth summer.

“The two of them slowly began spending more time with one another, little by little, until eventually, I asked one of the elders in our village why they were acting the way they were.

“She took me aside, and patiently explained to me what love did to the Tree-Sap People. Because of our propensity to intermingle with humans in the early days of our race, Y’ffre allowed us the opportunity to join those we had devoted ourselves to, even after death.

“It was then, I realised why my parents had been spending so much time with one another - they’d been preparing for the journey they were to take with one another. I was sad at first obviously, but when we talked it out, I was happy.”

“Happy?” Farkas asked, frowning, “But your parents were soon dying.”

Wulf chuckled, “Aye, their time on the mortal plane was drawing to a close. But it made me glad because I had always been afraid of losing my heart to a human, and losing them with no way to follow them.”

At this, the elf leant forward to press his forehead against Farkas’ while still retaining eye contact. He took a deep breath before whispering, “And I would be glad to follow you, if such a time would come and if you would have me.”

Farkas’ eyes widened, and he opened his mouth in a silent gasp. A moment passed before he said, “You mean...?”

“I do,” Wulf answered, reaching down to open a belt pouch and draw out an Amulet of Mara and hold it up for the Nord to see. Farkas’ expression only grew in disbelief, and he hesitated only a few moments before surging forward to press his lips against the elf’s, drawing a grunt of surprise out of Wulf. A heartbeat later, and Wulf smiled into the kiss, the action mirrored by Farkas as they traded gentle presses and bites before eventually, they drew apart, short-breathed with excitement.

“Shall I take that as a yes?” Wulf teased, cradling the Nord’s head in one hand.

“You better,” growled the Nord, a fond smile gracing his features as they leant in towards one another again…


End file.
